AN ASSORTMENT OF LYRICS, arranged alphabetically by song title. It would have been nice to have a chronological arrangement, but the beginnings of many of the songs have been lost in time and since many Tom returned to and reworked later in life, any end date is just as vague.Somewhere else, but not, I think, on this site, I have suggested that Tom did have a great facility for songwriting. It came natural to him. And at times it came so easy that he did not take the additional time to struggle and work at the time to make the song more nearly perfect. He would return to the song many years later, usually to the betterment of the song, but of course by then the musical world would have moved on. But ultimately, I think, Tom did not care. The pleasure for him was in the work itself. And perhaps reworking an old song was a way of going back to the time of the original composition. One of his songs is called "You Take Me Back to My Childhood" and it is sung by a dancer (think Fred Astaire) to his partner on a dance floor, but just perhaps it reflects the experience of Tom working again with the songs from his past.

AILEEN FROM ABILENELong tall lean mean Aileen from Abilene - Meanest gal I think I’ve ever seen. Looks like warm molasses But her heart is cold and brittle, Makes a boy from Big Spring, Texas Feel like so much spittle. Stringbean lean mean Aileen from Abilene. Took the desert of my heart And made it green. I thought she’d be the basis For love’s life-long oasis. But, oh, this devil’s daughter Turned the rain off, stopped the water, Broke my heart and gave me back my ring. Long lean ding-a-ling wing-ding mean, I mean Aileen from Abilene.

ASSASSINATION/POETS

This fantasia in the mind of Jack was one of my favorite bits in the original novel A string of Banjos, the one much departed from in the later-published more “normal” version, Ghost Guitars. For me it perfectly captures the confusions, the dualities, in the minds of our song-writing duo. I present it here as it appears in that earlier work, with a little bit of context.

At a Vietnam War protest rally, Jack tears down an American flag.

He tore himself from the cross of his conscience as he and Sandy crawled up a flagpole to drag into the waters of their ferment an American flag and replace it with the one symbolizing insurrection, a red rag of rebel bunting. An act that muddied the waters of his heart. He tried not to think about it . . . As Sandy attached the rebel flag, Pecos was supposed to get rid of the displaced one. Instead he began folding it like a dutiful YAM [in the novel, Youth for American Morality] . . .

* * * Jack remembered—where was it, Nebraska? Omaha, he thought. They’d seen this movie. The late show. Late there means it had begun at 9:30. The picture ends. They start waking out. At least Jack does. And so does everybody else. He thinks Jeeter [Jack’sstepfather and songwriter mentor and sometime lover] is behind him. He’s talking to him, for Christ sake. He looks around, Jeeter’s not there. He’s still standing down front at his seat. At attention. "The Star Spangled Banner" is playing. The American flag is on the screen. Jeeter is giving each the acknowledgment no one else is. Everyone else is walking out, but not Jeet. There he is down there standing at attention. Until the flag fades to white and "The Star Spangled Banner" runs out of breath.

At the time it had amused him. Now he thought it was something Pecos might have done. Would do, he guessed, if movies still did that sort of thing. If there were any podunk theaters left to do it in. Jeeter and Pake: the patriotic connection.

We are the furtiveWe are the feared,We are the celebrated,We are the revered,We are the poets,We are the snipers,The music when soft voices die . . . On screen, P & J seen singing on an Austin street near University. About them, victims falling. At the sniper's perch, Walt Whitman joined by Percy Shelley, Emily Dickinson, William Blake, all firing.

We are the passionBeyond the norm.We are the unformulatedIn fugitive form.We are the poets,We are the snipers,The music when soft voices die . . .

From the book depository window, Lee Harvey Oswald. Firing. From the hotel room, his rifle turned on a group of black men on a motel balcony, James Earl Ray. Firing. In the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel, Sirhan Sirhan. Firing.

Where you danced in ChancellorsvilleWe've made a shrine.We picked you off with an M 16In the arms of your valentine . . . The music is plaintive, anguished, melodic.

We are the patternTo art's disorder,We are the music blackAbout its border.We are the poets,We are the snipers,The music when soft voices die. Music recedes, stays under as Montage continues: Lincoln funeral cortege. Superimposed upon it: An American flag unfurled, rippling the entire width and breadth of screen; the first few measures of Star Spangled Banner are heard.

“We Are the Poets” gives way to strains of “After the Recent Assassination.” Pecos and Jack singing.

A succession of costumes and 'looks ' to indicate passage of time and the team's (Pake's in particular) development as artists and/or popular entertainers-cum-politically-influential personalities. Pecos's appearance becomes subtly modified to intensify the suggestion of the Indian. Jack's costume remains essentially the same.

Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun . . .

After the recent assassinationWe had lemonadeAnd looked at each other, stunned.How could such a thing happen in America?‘Better get the car off the street,’ she said.‘Just in case they come around.‘Better put some bullets in the pistol in the bureau,' she said,‘Just in case, when the sun goes down—’

Just in case when the sun goes down,Just in case when the sun goes down.Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun.We watched the funeral trains,Saw the televised memorials,Heard the speeches in Congress,Read the paper's editorials.Everyone's goal—control!'Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun-- and give it up!’(Johnny, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun —and keep it loaded. —and keep it handy.)The gun’s an AmericanRod of Christianity!Constitutional right.We want our civil libertiesCocked and ready, beside us in the night.Johnny, get a gun.After the recent assassinationWe had a highballAnd put the chains on the door.How could such a thing happen to the KennedysAnd the Kings?'Honey, teach me--How you load these things?’‘Better get the car off the street,’ she said.‘Just in case they come around.‘Better put some bullets in the pistol in the bureau,’ she said,'Just in case when the sun goes down—’

Well, the first thing they register’sYour guns—o.k.?The next thing they register is you.Then they reach their goal,They get control,Then they come, they take your guns away,Then they come, they take your sons away,Then the next time they come what they take away is you—o.k.?Is that o.k.?The next time they come what they take away is you.

Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun,Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun, get a gun . . .Just in case, when the sun goes down,Just in case, when the sun goes down.

AT HOME WITH RAIN Sun in the sky, Why make me cry? I feel more at home with rain.

Skies bright and blue, Bluer than you, I feel more at home with rain.

The one I care forHas ceased to care for me.The prediction is “Fair.”I echo, “No fair.”He’s (She’s) no longer there for me.

No no no no -The sun mustn’t glow.Fair skies gotta go-I feel more at home with rain.

BAREFOOT AND PREGNANT

She could be America's sweetheart -Look at that figure, what design.But I think I'll keep herBarefoot and pregnantAnd mine.She's a dream. I gotta disguise her,Make her a comic valentine.So I think I'll keep herBarefoot and pregnantAnd mine.Queen of the Silver ScreenShe could be.She could even be on TV.Mean, I must be mean as can be -I want to keep her for me.She's a star and I'll keep her shining,Hanging the diapers on the line.Yes, I'm gonna keep herBarefoot and pregnantAnd mine. FINISH:She could be America's sweetheart -Look at that figure, what design.But I think I'll keep onHumpin' her, pumpin' her,Keepin' herBarefoot and pregnantAnd mine.[Note: Tom had written this one in the early 1960s, and when he started work on A String of Banjos he hauled it out of the trunk and stuck it in for a while. It seemed like a useful way station on Jack's progress from standard C&W through a more raunchy brand and ultimately to an X-rated late night brand before moving on from "party records" to more mainstream rock and roll.]

BETTER THAN EVEROh, how wonderful the world is,Like it never was before.And how wonderful the wonderThat it’s me that you adore.The birds are singing their songsBetter than ever before.The clouds are moving alongBetter than ever before.The sun that shines in the skyIs brighter than I’ve ever seen. I mean, the grass is so green.Look at me, oh,I’m, oh, so aglow!I’m dancing!What you have done,Whisp’ring those things in my ear?You tell me I am the one,What I have wanted to hear.Now that you’ve finally informed
me,You’ve transformed the entire universe,And now it’s better than ever,It’s better than ever before.

BILLY’S NOT THERE

When I glance At his easy chair, It isn’t easy - Billy’s not there.
Here’s
his razor. This was his spare. Bathroom seems empty- Billy’s not there.

His cigarettes - He smoked how many? He said he’d quit, He quit just me. It’s my bedtime. Don’t seem to care. Pull down the covers- Billy’s not there. Two:

Washer/dryer Needs some repair. No one to fix it - Billy’s not there.

Here’s his toothbrush. It’s had some wear. No teeth to brush now - Billy’s not there.

BOARDWALKTom considered the movie Boardwalk to be one-half an excellent movie about growing old and the rest an indifferent tale of a budding rock singer with a crappy ending. He believed that the film should grow in importance over time because of the intersection of talents Lee Strasberg, Ruth Gordon, Janet Leigh, and Lillian Roth (returning to the screen after an absence of many years), all of whom gave excellent performances. Tom wrote the lyrics for a possible title song (music by our late friend William Dyer) which Lillian Roth recorded on tape for Tom. He offered it to the director, but the song was rejected because only rock music would be featured. Noted songwriter Sammy Cahn also expressed interest (through Tom) in supplying a title song. Also rejected. The style of Bill Dyer’s music is that of a valse triste and it is quite lovely, as is Miss Roth’s recording. The point of view of the song is that of the Ruth Gordon character in the movie, who becomes ill and dies, leaving her husband, Lee Strasberg, bereft. BOARDWALK Music by William Dyer Lyrics by Tom Miller

We’ve eaten the hot dogs, We’ve taken the rides, Done the fun-house mirrorsFront and sides. Am I burned, Am I tanned? Want to walk in the sand, Or like this, hand in hand On the boardwalk? The salt water taffy Has loosened a tooth. Do you think the gypsy Tells the truth? Pass her by, Let her be. My good fortune she’d see You here standing with me On the boardwalk. We’ve come a long way. What didn’t we do! It’s been a lark, An amusement park Any day with you.

But a chill in the wind now. I ought to go home. Is this Brighton Beach Or is it Nome? Oh, this day’s Been a friend, But I now recommend You walk me to the end Of the boardwalk.

BOOGER IN MY SUGAR(My Ole Lady, She Can’t Keep House)

There’s a booger in my sugar.My ole lady, she can’t keep house.A sink of dirty dishes,Underneath the sink, I bet there’s a mouse.Roaches lookin’ for somethin’
sweet,Weevils in my Cream of Wheat.When it comes to kissin’ though, she can’t be beat.Not me to grouseIf my baby just can’t keep house.

There’s a booger in my sugar.My ole lady ain’t got a clue.A pile of dirty diapers,Lordy me, the stink -Well, I’m tellin’ you. All them highchairs that line the walls.Mama says she’ll bust my balls.Won’t let me use no rubbers and the pill appalls. My lovin’ spouseIs a lady who can’t keep house.

Unlike the plates, I get laid a lot.Unlike the bed, I get made a lot.

So, there’s a booger in my sugarAnd my ole lady’s just fit for bed.A tub of dirty undies,Watching television, though,There’s beautiful head.Mama says that the girl’s insane.Got the bod but not the brain.Back off a little, Mama, or I might explainAnd be a louse.So what, my baby can’t keep house.

COTTONPICKIN’ HANDS

Take your hands off of me,Take your hands off of me,Take your hot ‘n’ stickin’Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.Take your hands off of me,Take your hands off of me.Take your hot ‘n’ smelly,Muscatelly hands off of me.

I don’t know where you were last nightAnd I don’t care.I only know,We got a little place hereWe’re supposed to share.You told me that you’d love meUntil your dyin’ day.You lied, you turd,With ev’ry wordAnd this is all I got to say –

Take your hands off of me,Take your hands off of me,Take your ole nose-pickin’Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.I don’t know where you were last night . . . How dare you smirk!I only knowWe got us somethin’ hereThat’s supposed to work.You told me that you’d love meUntil you breathe your last.What was just swellHas gone to hell -Your last is comin’ fast.Take your hands off of me,Take your hands off of me,Take your Muscatelly,Woman-smelly, Hot ‘n’ stickin’,Ole nose-pickin’,Cottonpickin’ hands off of me.

DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS

Two little girls in blue are we,Blue are we, blue are we,Watching our true loves go to sea
-Down to the sea in ships.

Two sailor boys in blue are they,Blue are they, blue are theyWatching us watch them go to sea - Down to the sea in ships.

They’re on the ships, we’re on the shoreTrying our best not to cry.Oh, how our lips long to once moreKiss them goodbye.

Two little girls in blue are we,Blue are we, blue are we, Watching our true loves go to sea - Down to the sea in ships.

GYPSIES KNOW Along with “I’ll Be Singing a Love Song” and “It Was Too Good To Be True,” this was written to a melody by a Mexican composer, Jose Melis, its original title “Lago Azul.” As with the others, this is not a translation. Three lead sheets were handed to me by the head of Southwestern Music in Los Angles. He asked me to write English lyrics to the music. He liked my lyrics, but nothing ever came of them. They remain unpublished.

Gypsies know There’s no hurry when lights are low. There’s no worry the night will go. By a campfire the night stands still.

Gypsies know It’s not wanton to want a kiss, Nor to want on a night like this A surrender to nature’s will. So, until passion goes with the morning light, Let us thrill like two gypsies tonight.

No, no, no, Do not hurry, and do not go. Gypsies know that when lights are low Love is tender and love is slow.

HAD TO STAY UP WITH MY HEART

I know I don’t look right, But I’ve been up all night - I had to stay up with my heart.

If I seem tired and blue It’s all because of you - I had to stay up with my heart.

I’ll soon be old and gray Spendin’my nights this way, Havin’ to stay up with my heart.

HIGH HEEL SHOES High heel shoes, High heel shoes. Don’t ever fall for a woman who swears And wears High heel shoes. She’ll take your heart, Take your last dime Maybe kiss you One last time, And then walk all over you With them high heel shoes.

Buddy, yeah, I’ll have a beer. I can’t refuse. I loved a low class woman In high heel shoes.

Buddy, sure, another brew. What’s to lose? I loved a low class woman In high heel shoes.

HOT SOUPIt would have been betterHad you fallen from a tractor -Grinding blades,And you’d been dead in spades.And farmers would have brought me hot soup.Or you could have drowned.I could have issued a statement:“Tears will lead me to the same watery grave.”

I could have worn a handsome mourning bandAnd forevermore (for at least a week)Hung a wreath outside my door -Something chic they’d all adore.

Or you could have had an accident,Like
breaking your neck in a four-car collisionFriends would have sent sympathy cards,Emails, phone calls.Somebody would have paid me compensation.
Or
you could have gone to a shooting gallery -Just imagine -And been shot in the head.So many things you could have done and didn’t, my sweet.And therein lies the tragedy -Love boringly, soaringly dead,And you still here.

I BEEN REBORN IN NEW ORLEANSI misbehavedAnd Mama raved.I went to church a lot.It never gotMe saved.But now I’ve heardNot just The WordBut ole Gabriel’s horn.I been rebornIn New Orleans.Gabriel’s hornHas set me right.Why, I’m rebornMost ev’ry night.I’ve seen the lightIn each glass of champagne.My burden lifted,I feel no pain.

The bread I breakMay be humble,But I partakeOf T-bone steakNot beans.I love this bill of fare,So let the trumpets blare.I hear salvation there in that horn.I been rebornIn New Orleans.

[Note: I assume Tom mean for it to be pronouced "Orleens."]

I CAN'T WAIT TO GET BACK TO THE DANCE FLOORIn the wind there's a banjo flying -I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.Round the bend there's a trombone crying -I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.Younger the evening, I danced myself to deathOlder the evening, I stopped to catch my breath.But, my friend, if you feel like trying -I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.Younger the evening, I said, "This is the end."Older the evening, I've got my second wind.And, my friend, if it's me you're eyeing -I can't wait to get back to the dance floor.

JESUS SAYS

Jesus saysThe thought is the sin. You think it, you’ve done it. What are you thinkin’, Joe, As you watch that jailbait go Sashayin’ down the street. You think that would be sweet? When you make love to me tonight - If you do - Will you think about her? Will I think about you? Jesus saysWe sin in our heads. We think it, we’ve done it. What are you thinkin’, Joe, As you watch that cute kid show Her assets one by one? You think that she’d be fun? When you make love to be tonight - If you do - Will you be holding her? Will I be holding you? Who am I? Am I she? What’s to be My identity? Jesus saysOur thoughts must be pure. We think it, we’ve done it. What are you thinkin’, Joe, As you watch that baseball go And the player make his run? Oh, sure he could be done. When you make love to me tonight - If you do - Will you think about him? Will I think about you?

LITTLE BOY

Go catch a rainbow trout And you will have no doubt God thought this whole thing out When He was a little boy.

Go take a midnight swim, Climb out upon a limb. We owe it all to Him When He was a little boy.

It would be nice, He thought, Shooting marbles, But He had naught of them. Until He thought of them He was contented shooting stars.

Moon shining oh so bright, That used to be his kite. It got away one night When He was a little boy. God made the world, all right, When He was a little boy.

THE NEANDERTHAL MAN LIKED FLOWERS

Intended for but dropped from A String of Banjos.Jack gets the idea from a newspaper clipping and gets Pecos interested.

Joan and I down buffaloesWith bowsAnd arrows,And we read in the newsThe Neanderthal man liked flowers.The Neanderthal man liked flowers,And when he’d dieThey’d lay him on a bed of wildflowersThat bloomed between May and July.That bloomed, that bloomedThat bloomed between May and July.I’m slipping by the minute.I may not last the hour.Dig a hole and put me in it.Lay me on a flowerThat blooms, that blooms,That blooms between May and July.

If no flowers, find some cloverAnd lay me down to rest.I’ve loved you, now it’s over.There’ll be flowers, we’ve been blessedFor it’s June, it’s June,It’s June between May and July.

ONE MORE TIMEBefore we pay the man the money,Before we take the key back, honey,Let's go back and make love just one more time.A honey moon should never go down,Feel my heartbeat, it just won't slow down -Let's go back and make love just one more time.Show the man your finger, show him your ring,Tell him just two more hours.If the maids wanna get in and do their thing,Well, tell 'em we wanna do ours!We've got a tight itenerary.We'll simply cut out Tucumcari -Let's go back and make love just one more time.Written by Jack Linden and sung by Carrie Sue Suppers ("Black Lung" Suppers' daughter) at the wedding of Pecos and Ruth.Carrie Sue's greatest hit was, of course, "Waggin' My Tale at the End of Daddy's Leash." "One More Time" is, as you no doubt have now noticed, one of the many that didn't make the final cut of Ghost Guitars (a.k.a. A String of Banjos).

QUOTE, I LOVE YOUThis song was written byGuess who? Me,And dedicated toGuess who? You!This song is called Quote I Love You Unquote.I hope you'll note I love you and wroteThis song to tell you I do.

(And repeat)I may be simple,I'm country in ev'ry joint.I'm dang simple,I come right to the point.

This song was written byTruly yoursAnd dedicated toTruly mine.This song is called Quote I Love Your Unquote.I hoope you'll note I love you and wroteThis song to tell you I do.

SHITKICKIN' BLUES

(In an earlier draft of A String of Banjos, it was this song that got Jack Linden's Bar-X Boys the nickname Shitkickers.)I'm kickin' at doors, kickin' at stairs,Kickin' at stoves and frigidaires,Hound walk by, if he dares,I'lll kick him too!But I'm tellin' you true,What I really want to kick is you!I got them shitkickin' blues,Got them shitkickin' blues.See them feet? Ain't they beauts?Slide on down there and kiss them, Toots.Pay your duesOr I'm gonna kick you with them ole shoes.Girl, I got them good ole shitkickin' blues.2)I'm kickin' at sticks, rocks in the road,I even kicked our ole commode,I'm tellin' you I got this heavy load,Got a heavy heart too,'Cause what I really wanna kick is you!3)I'm kickin' you because you're not aboutBut if you come back, Baby, I've no doubt'Bout what I'd do, simply kick you out,That's what I'd do,Stomp you black and blue,'Cause what I really wanna kick is you!

TELEPHONE POLES

One of the most charming lyrics in A String of Banjos, used strikingly to evoke Jack Linden's stepfather and collaborator Len Rudd.

Fly away, bird, said the ears of corn. Scarecrow there, he after you. So I flapped my wings on the day I was born And watched the telephone poles go by.

Fly away, bird, said the cold March wind. Ain’t no use you work today. So I thumbed a ride, ev’ry stranger a friend, And watched the telephone poles go by.

Fly away, bird, now the pickin’s slim. Gettin’ old, I hear them say - Still thumbin’ that thumb though the blinkers are dim, Watchin’ the telephone poles go by.

THREEThree -There's him and you and meWhy should one of us have to go?WeAll love each other so,We three. We'll put the trip in triplicate, Let's begin. No odd man out, always welcomed in.Two -That's just us, love, without you.Well, ou know that could never be.YouKnow you belong to me -Him, too. Three names on the certificate! Blow their minds! We'll simply say, 'Well, it takes all kinds.'OneWould be so lonely,And two so blue at their fun.NoneShould think onlyOf pairsWhen there's the additional one.Three -This trio, can't you see,Will leave none of us in the cold?WeWill have and we will hold,We three.[Note: this one was written as an afterthought for A String of Banjos and pulled pretty quickly and stuck in the trunk. The idea of the song was to underscore Jack's desire for having three-way sex involving Pecos.]

TROUBLED MINDTroubled mind,A troubled mind.Well, you went and left me with a troubled mind.You said goodbye and went away.Now the skies, above, so gray,Paint the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.I can’t eat,I can’t sleep.I pray the Lord to come and take my soul to
keep.You said your love for me has died.Oh, the tears that I have cried - I’m the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.

I can’t dance,I can’t date.To the ones who want to kiss me I say, “Wait.”Gotta see this heartbreak through,Till the day I’ve over you.I’m the picture of a bleak and troubled mind.[Note: This one too was in and out of A String of Banjos. I always thought it worked perfectly in.]

WHAT’S WORSE? A dying zombie Went “Ho Ha” and he Put on our fam’ly a curse. Don’t mind that zombie ‘Cause he can’t harm me But you don’t love me - What’s worse?

I’ve seen creatures With double features And arms that work in reverse. I say, spare me. ‘Cause they don’t scare me, But you don’t love me - What’s worse?

This here planet Is only granite And not expected to last. If
I’m ever to have your lovin’ I better have it fast.

Judgment Day Comin’, so they say But before we order the hearse, Tell me you love me, And show you love me If you love me - What’s worse? Tag. (Though) Times is lean, Eatin’ pork and beans And there’s only coins in my purse, Blame my depression On this impression That you don’t love me - What’s worse?

WHEN LAST SEEN SHE WAS A BLONDEGone, gone girl, and took my Mercedes.She's a gone, gone girl, foxiest of all ladies.Well, she drives me wild, and she drives in the eightiesAnd when last seen she was a blonde.Wouldn't swear to it, but I think she's Chicano.I would marry her, but she said she don't wan', ohAnd she took my wheels and she's travelin' monoAnd when last seen she was a blonde.Get an all points on her, boys, don't let her shaft me.Them points on her, boys, are the points I let witchcraft me.Gone, gone girl - gone and took all my money.She's a gone, gone girl with her accent so funny.I'll let her keep the car but I must have my honeyAnd when last seen she was a blonde.[Note: this was set to a jaunty piece by Johann Sebastian Bach, of all people, and it fit remarkably well. For the life of me I can't remember which one, but if I ever stumble across it I will add that fact here.] [I found it: the Gavotte from Cello Suite no. 6.]

True, when you leftI thought I’d fall over.Thought it all over,Thought I’d die.But who dies of love?

WHO’S GONNA MIND THE STORE?

I don’t mind a little kiss But, hey, a serious thing like this - I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store? You don’t have to plead and beg But say a customer wants an egg? I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?

How would it look, for pity sake, My unbuttoned jeans, Leaning across the counter where We keep the pork and beans?

I just pay for you to clerk. Now don’t you bill me for extra work - I don’t mind but who’s gonna mind the store?

YOU TAKE ME BACK TO MY CHILDHOODThis was written for but not included in The Curse of Vilma Valentine, meant to be a song Fred Astaire sings to Vilma in Sparkler, the film they made together. In the novel it was intended to be sung nostalgically and campily by Vilma and Betty DaTodi as they reminisce about Hollywood in Vilma’s gift shop. [Note: Sparkler was choreographed by George Balanchine, the only time he ever got to work with Fred, and Balanchine is one among many in the novel interviewed about the titular character.]Hershey Kisses, to be truthful, Never made me feel this youthful.You take me back to my childhood.With your body like a crescentClose to mine, I’m adolescent.You take me back to my childhood.Dancing!Are we really dancing?Are we on a dance floor - Perchance more,A merry-go-round!It’s like prom night - graduation!It’s an old, yet new sensation.Loving you is my vocation.You take me back to my childhood.